Ezra Bridger practically fell off the ramp he took in the vibrant green of Yavin IV. Of all the worlds he'd taken refuge on since joining the Rebellion, this seemed the most peaceful at times. Something about this world helped to ease his ever-worsening anxiety about their fight against the Empire. Kanan had wondered if the planet possessed some unknown—or perhaps long-forgotten—connection to the Force. Given the amount of nights he'd come across his master meditating near the forests at night, Ezra was starting to share this belief.

"So long as there's no ancient Force-users who might try to kill us with a storm, I'm okay with it," the Padawan had joked, earning an amused snort from Kanan.

The memory brightened Ezra's mood slightly, given him a needed boost to make his way off the ship's ramp and wander through the interior of the temple being converted into Rebel Command. A number of people glanced in his direction, some outright staring, but he ignored him, focusing on one single task at the moment. Avoiding the rest of the crew at all costs.

Now, Ezra loved the Ghost Crew; they were the reason he was here fighting the good fight rather than waiting on Lothal to be saved or worse. The years he'd spent with them were some of the best in his life and he wouldn't trade it for the universe. The only downside came with being the youngest member of the crew. The others tended to treat Ezra like he was made of glass. And that got a little annoying after a while.

He knew they meant well, and some part of him appreciated their love and concern, but it was exhausting having to suffer through their constant worries. He was seventeen years old! Not quite a man, but he wasn't the same dumb kid they'd picked up on Lothal three years back.

It was that mindset which led him to taking the mission to rescue potential allies from a Trandosian game reserve planet. The crew had been divided into different missions at the time, and he'd insisted to Hera that he'd be okay on his own for one mission.

"Fine," she relented. "But you are to call in at every checkpoint and do everything the team leader tells you to do. Understood?"

"Yes mam," he said. "But I'm telling you, Hera, it'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"

Kanan had taught him the Force was a living entity all its own, sometimes existing as the only true neutral being in the entire galaxy. Except when it came to Ezra; on that front, the Force delighted in subscribing him to as many horrors imaginable.

The mission had gone smoothly enough and ended with a successful extraction. There was just the little detail of the great beast which had been stalking them the entire mission. The creature's persistence eventually warranted a direct confrontation on Ezra's part. The good news was that he managed to drive it off without killing it, though its limbs would be useless now. The not-so-good-but-considering-the-alternative-still-relatively-good news was the amount of injuries he'd incurred during the fight.

Three cracked ribs, claw marks running along his torso that would undoubtedly scar, and an arm that needed to be set, and a minor concussion that started throbbing as soon as he set foot on Yavin. An altogether successful operation in his mind.

Now all needed to do was avoid his family and get to the medical wing and have his wounds checked out. Easier said than done when said individuals were gathered near a holonet table going over some mission specifics he was too hurt to care about. Lucky for him, though; there backs were turned, and med-bay was just a hopscotch away.

All he had to do was make it just a few more steps and then—

"Karabast!"

Sithspit, he thought, glancing in the Ghost Crew's direction as they followed Zeb's wide-eyed gaze.

Hera and Sabine mirrored the Lasat's expression, while Kanan's jaw set as he poked at their bond and registered the amount of pain he was in. Years on the streets of Lothal instilled Ezra with a great tolerance for pain, but the discomfort came through just the same. The injury to his arm meant he needed a sling which prevented him from being able to zip-up his shirt, which left his torso, wrapped in bandages quickly staining red with blood, freed for all to see.

Ezra broke the awkward silence with a lop-sided grin, "Hey guys."

Her shock-induced paralysis broken, Hera Syndulla assumed her role at the mother-hen of the Ghost Crew. An instant later, she was at his side, Ryl accent slipping through her voice, "Ezra Bridger! What in blazes happened to you?!"

"Um," he offered lamely, the throbbing getting worse. "I won?"

"How bad is it?" he heard Kanan whisper to Sabine.

"Better than it probably looks," the Mandalorian observed. "But still pretty bad."

"Ezra," his master shook his head. "I thought that mission was supposed to be safe."

"Come on, Kanan, I'm not made of glass," Ezra frowned.

"Good thing, too," Zeb drawled.

Ezra ignored him, "And the mission was a success! We just freed Force knows how many political prisoners who will tell people about the Empire. I think a broken arm is worth it!"

"A what?!" Kanan and Hera shouted at the same time.

"Possibly broken," he amended, for all it was worth, the throbbing in his head getting worse. He felt like he was about to vomit but willed himself on. "I'm just saying that a few bruises are worth it if we can save a few lives."

"There's bruises," Sabine narrowed her eyes, frowning in concern, "and then there's having wounds that require stitches. Stitches that look like they're ready to burst." She was at his side, slinging his good arm around her shoulder. He was about to protest when a wave of nausea crashed over him, legs, buckling as everything went black.

Ezra blinked several times, adjusting to the lighting of the medical station's florescence. He heard the faint sounds of medical machines and personnel. It took him a moment to realize that he was resting in someone's lap, a hand running through his short hair. Glancing up, he expected to see Hera and readied himself for her motherly scolding.

"Good morning," Sabine smiled at him, though it didn't reach her eyes.

Ezra considered her for a moment, "Where is—"

"Hera went to get the mission debrief from your team leader. Kanan followed to make sure she didn't strangle the guy. Zeb followed to make sure Kanan didn't strangle the guy. Chopper went along to watch the whole thing and record it."

Ezra nodded, "You didn't go along to make sure Zeb didn't strangle the guy."

"Nah," she kept running her hand along his hair; it felt nice. "Zeb won't try anything. He'll just wait until the guy's not paying attention and slip something in his food."

"And you?" the young Jedi grinned. "Is my team leader going to have a few paint bombs waiting in his room tonight?"

"Give me some credit," she scoffed. "The bombs are in his test fighter. I had Chop schedule him for one tomorrow."

"Sounds about right," Ezra sighed. "You guys aren't letting me live this down, are you?"

"Not in the immediate future," she smiled, this time warmth in her eyes. "Ezra, I know it seems like we treat you as some sort of baby. The truth is that's not entirely inaccurate. We just want you to be safe. I know better than most what the Empire is capable of. And that the thought of that happening to any of you…"

"I know. I get it, I really do."

"Then you'll understand why you have sit through Hera's mothering for the next two weeks while you heal up, right?"

"Yeah," he sighed. They settled into a comfortable silence before he spoke again. "I don't suppose my brave, noble, heroics make me worthy of kiss, do they?"

Sabine gave a soft laugh, "Keep dreaming, Bridger."

Ezra smiled at her, leaning in her lap and closed his eyes.

Yep, he wouldn't trade his family for the universe.